


Comedown

by by_no_one_more_than_me (Lady_Cleo)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Hannigram - Freeform, Inspired by Photography, M/M, Murder Husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 10:19:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16617101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Cleo/pseuds/by_no_one_more_than_me
Summary: Will has a moment of introspection while waiting for Hannibal to come back from a run.





	Comedown

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my fellow Fannibals, whom I love like the family we are.
> 
> Saw a photo. Wrote a thing. Hope you like it.

Hannibal runs now. Ironic, maybe, since they're technically always on the run. But it's good for him and he likes it, and in the back of both their minds lies the oddly unshakable certainty they're never going to be caught. 

Sometimes the dogs even go with. His hair is a little longer, a little less perfect all the time, and Will actually loves it. Loves the casual side that's come out to play, or perhaps is just emerging for the first time. 

The suits aren't gone, but there had been only so many they could bring and only so many ways to avoid suspicion when ordering bespoke three-piece suits of armor. So now Hannibal only wears them on special occasions, like the anniversary of the day they met and Will's birthday, when only Hannibal is permitted to wear clothes. 

They don't talk much about the night they fell. In some ways it was a declaration: wrapped in each other's arms, the rush of battle where they'd allied themselves and emerged bloodied but victorious still thrumming in their veins like a drug, the mutual drop from a height some bizarre literal representation of falling in love. But there's also the tiny fact that Will was banking on them dying as much as he was thinking of escape, that even though Hannibal would've followed him anywhere, would've gone willingly... Will still made the choice _for_ him. Not with him. 

Finding yourself in a shared state of being entirely by happenstance is not the same thing. 

Will shakes himself out of musings heading into dangerously melancholy territory and focuses on finishing breakfast. Hannibal usually cooks when he comes home, waking Will with a kiss and a tray to eat in bed while he showers. But the remnants of the argument from the night before playing on repeat in his head meant Will didn't sleep as deeply or as long as he typically does, so here he is wide awake, sipping coffee and making breakfast to make nice with his... well, his Hannibal. 

They're just crepes with banana and peanut butter, and some bacon because some days just call for bacon. Okay. So they're honey whole wheat crepes and the peanut butter is this stupidly expensive gourmet paste made from artisanal peanuts and the honey is organic. But the protein and potassium will be good for Hannibal after his run, and the thoughtfulness of the surprise will go a long way to smoothing over their little spat without anyone having to actually say they're sorry. 

And this way Will gets to revel in the scent of Hannibal post workout, perspiration clean as an ocean breeze, pheromones kicked into higher than normal gear due to the exercise. He's not sure if he's maybe crossing some line by tricking Hannibal into staying this way for him just so Will can absorb his masculine scent and wrap it around himself like a cashmere throw. Hannibal doesn't seem to mind when Will clings to him in a post-orgasmic haze, mouthing the little droplets of sweat off his skin and burying his nose in the join of neck and shoulder to breathe deep. But this feels different, and Will's not sure he can ask. 

Muffin, their latest acquisition, perks up her ears and soon enough Hannibal appears at the end of the lane, coming from the woods if Will's memory serves. Will takes a moment to just take in the sight of his beloved running, pace slowing to a ground-eating jog, muscles bunching and flexing barely visible through the layers of cotton workout gear, expression a study in pensive neutrality. 

Time seems to go out of sync for just a second, and Hannibal seems to be moving in slow motion, a recording playing back at half-speed. The little strands of his hair flicking up and down in a sine wave, a bead of sweat trickling down past his collar, the audible crunch of asphalt under his sneakers. 

Then the pendulum swings and the world catches up and Hannibal is in the side yard, drawing deep breaths and stretching as he walks to bring his heart rate down safely. He's pulling the air pods from his ears and pocketing them, retrieving his phone to shut off his workout mix (all opera and classical with a few techno beat remixes courtesy of Will that he probably never listens to.) He walks in, head inclined, eyes down, and Will just marvels at the sight of him so unguarded. It makes him want to snap a photo, sear the image into his brain, and he yearns to sketch as well as Hannibal does just long enough to record the memory somewhere he could bring it out whenever he wished. 

There's something to be said for memory palaces, and Hannibal's been trying to teach him how to build one and store things within it, with limited success. But for this moment, he tries. And like the exact look on Hannibal's face when he came 2 weeks ago, and the way his hands had looked making dinner on their anniversary, and the smile he gave Will the day they met, and whatever outfit and expression he wears on their wedding day (Will already has the ring picked out, tucked inside a hollowed out book in the study)... For this moment, he succeeds. 

_If I saw you every day forever, I would remember this time. Always._  


**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos always appreciated.


End file.
